Page 104 of Chameleon Killer

“Have you already checked utility use by floor?” I asked. “You know, if you know someone.”

“Working on it.” Droll and dry, but the corner of his mouth curved upward again.

“Cell coverage?”

“Patchy above ten. Better near the river-facing windows.”

I pointed at him. “You went upstairs.”

He hesitated before he admitted, “Eight floors.”

“You said you only entered the garage.”

“I said I didn’t go inside the building.”

“Stairwells are usually inside buildings.”

“It’s technically a vertical access structure adjacent to⁠—”

“Flint.”

“I went up eight floors.”

I stared at him. He had the grace to look faintly guilty. Not sorry, but guilty. It mollified some of my concern. Fisting my irritation, I fought to get back on the subject.

“Why eight?”

“The elevator required a badge.” He grimaced. “The stairwell didn’t.”

“You climbed eight flights.” I wanted to pinch the bridge of my nose, but I kept my hands away from it.

“Nine, if you count the garage level.”

“With someone potentially watching.” I didn’t bother to hide the fact I gaped at him.

“Yes.”

“Alone.” My disbelief mounted.

“Yes.”

“And you’re angry with me?”

“I contain multitudes.”

I set the mug down before I threw it.

Flint’s almost-smile appeared again. This time I let mine answer it. The tension shifted. Not gone. Never gone. But something warmer moved beneath it.

I walked back to the board. “What did you find on eight?”

“Renovation staging. Plastic sheeting. Framing. No workers. One temporary camera pointed toward the stairwell.”

“Building security?”

“Not according to the numbers.”

“Did it track you?”